


The Rise of Widows

by LyaStark



Series: In Another Westeros [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Ableism, Elia Martell Lives, Elia Martell-centric, Gen, Rhaella Targaryen Lives, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyaStark/pseuds/LyaStark
Summary: In the wake of the deaths of her husband and father-in-law, Elia Martell struggles to maintain control of her son's regency and bring an end to a rebellion.
Series: In Another Westeros [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1470920
Comments: 65
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

A day after the wildfire burned itself out, Elia and Rhaella were finally permitted entry to the throne room that served as their husbands’ funeral pyre. The damage was beyond anything Elia had imagined. The flames hadn’t simply scorched the floor. The substance had somehow reshaped the stone into a curving surface as though a giant’s hand had sent ripples through it in places, while the center of the room seemed to be eaten away. The Iron Throne remained intact, though more gruesome than before. The hideous structure had always lacked proper form and showed no hint of a planned design. Now the blades were partly melted and sagged like warm wax, like Harrenhal.

“The king was found on the throne?” Elia asked, glancing around, trying to make sense of what remained.

“Yes,” Uncle Lewyn said. “And we found who we believe to be young Jaime and Varys by the foot of the throne just there.”

“And my lord husband?”

“Here.” Uncle Lewyn strode a few yards from the monstrosity. “And Rossart was beside him, along with the remains of one of his contraptions. The fire seems to have begun their and flared outward.”

Elia looked about, still confused and heartsick by it all. She had hoped to find something close to answers. Yet, staring at the blackened spot where her husband’s remains had lain left her with naught but soot. It seemed that the only ones privy to the last moments of the king and crown prince’s lives were as dead as they were. Yet it was easy to guess.

“What remains you found…” Rhaella hesitated. “Was any of it…”

“None would be at all comforting to look upon,” the white knight said.

“Yes, it is best you remember their Graces as they were in life,” Ser Barristan said, in what must have been an attempt at comfort.

The princess and the queen held each other’s gaze in silent chagrin. Elia remembered King Aerys as he had been days ago, frothing and raging from atop the throne.

“You will burn this rebellion down, _ root and stem _ !” he had shouted down at Rhaegar and Uncle Lewyn before screeching in pain from a fresh cut on his arm. He had practically growled at the maester who rushed forward to tend to the wound. “Never forget, Martell, I hold your niece and those Dornish whelps of hers. If you even  _ think  _ treasonous thoughts, I will repay your treachery with their blood! Don’t think I won’t! The dragon always has his vengeance, oh yes!”

While her uncle’s copper skinn had reddened with rage, her husband had maintained his usual calm. 

“All will be well, father,” Rhaegar had said, as though soothing Rhaenys from one of her nightmares. “Cousin Robert will be brought to heel and peace restored.”

Elia had kept to her chambers and the nursery after that. She knew very well how her good father felt about her and the babes. The whole court knew that the king had no wish to even hold them. Yet, she hadn’t dreamed he would threaten the lives of his own grandchildren. No more than she dreamed he would murder his son.

“You can’t mean to leave us here,” Elia had said the morning her husband died. “Your father is mad!”

“I see that now,” Rhaegar had said, a note of the usual melancholy in his tone. “A great council shall be called once the rebels are put down. Father will be confined to Dragonstone and I will serve as regent. In three moons time, this will all be settled. Best to keep out of his sight until then, lest he imagine some fresh treasons of you.”

“All the more reason the children and I should sail for Sunspear,” Elia had insisted. That was one of the safest places she knew. Sunspear and the Water Gardens, the warmth of Arthur’s arms, and Oberyrn’s protective presence. Though she knew her brother wouldn’t be there when she arrived. He was still enduring an unofficial exile in Essos. Still, she longed for home. 

“That will only serve to heighten my father’s suspicions,” her husband had said. “Best to keep him as calm as possible until he is removed from power.”

An hour later, the king had sent for him. A quarter of an hour after that, they were both dead.

Elia could only believe that Aerys had been so lost to sense that he had attempted to murder his own son and heir and something had gone amiss. No one had voice that aloud as yet though. 

A familiar weariness swept through her bones and Elia knew she must sit and rest. But not here. Not now. There was too much to do.

“We must needs gather the small council,” she announced. “The rebels aren’t like to halt their march when the rumors of what happened reach them.”

On the contrary. The would be usurper would see the war as all but won.

When Elia had word sent to the members of her son’s small council, summoning them to a meeting, she was informed that Grand Maester Pycelle had already gathered the surviving members together without bothering to inform her or the queen. The realization replaced her weariness with dread. They intended to rest her children from her and rule as regents in her place. Of course these northerners would think she would meekly step aside. They didn’t know her very well.

_They think me weak,_ she realized, knowing how frail she was physically. _They think they can take control of my son’s reign without sparing a thought for me._ _But I will be strong. A match for any of them._

And she hoped that was true. 

“Are you certain?” Rhaella asked when Elia informed the queen of her intention to walk in on the small council meeting and take control. “It may be best if we wait to see what they decide.”

Not for the first time, Elia wondered at how these northerners could be so mild. She might not be physically strong enough to do all that she wished, but she would be damned if she allowed Aerys’ lickspittles to control her children’s future. But the princess resolved to dull any sharp remarks she might make to her good mother, reminding herself of all the queen had endured.

“Good mother, you are the queen dowager and grandmother of the king. I am a princess of Dorne, the dowager princess of Dragonstone and mother of the king.  _ We  _ ought to be the ones deciding.”

Had it been her mother charging into the small council chamber, she would have demanded to know what they thought they were doing, convening without her. Elia didn’t have the luxury of raising her temper too high, lest her heart begin to race. Instead, she made certain Rhaenys, Aegon, and Viserys were surrounded by Dornish guards and her ladies, as well as Ser Barristan and Ser Jonothor. Then, with forced calm, she proceeded to the small council chamber.

While the four men at the table argued, Elia, Uncle Lewyn, and the queen took their pick from the empty seats. Elia sat in the chair closest to the door to keep her steps in reserve, while her uncle took the seat beside hers and one of her ladies, Teora Manwoody, remained standing at her back. Rhaella almost hesitantly took the king’s seat. By the time she sank into the chair, the men around the table had slowly quieted.

Elia waited a beat, hoping Rhaella would speak, but her good mother remained silent. So, just when Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, likely to inquire after their presence, Elia cut him off and began.

“Who called this meeting?” she asked, taking in the four men with a sweeping glance. The maester appeared confused. Symond Staunton, the dark bearded master of laws scowled back at her. The silver-haired and elegant master of ships Lucerys Velaryon smirked. The gaze of Ardrian Celtigar, the careful and calculated master of coin, darted between everyone else.

Pycelle cleared his throat again. “Princess, I gathered what remains of the small council together. We-”

“My thanks, grand maester, for anticipating us,” Elia said. “But from now on, these meetings will be called by myself or Queen Rhaella. We are serving as King Aegon’s regents until he reaches his majority.”

Before the silence that followed could stretch very far, she pushed onward, hoping that would settle the matter.

“What were you all discussing so passionately when we arrived?”

“You see, I wa-” Pycelle began before Lord Symond plowed forward.

“He means to give the realm to Tywin Lannister,” Symond announced.

“I mean to ask Lord Tywin to serve the realm,” Pycelle insisted. “Just as he served all of Westeros for twenty good years. I counseled the king to send for him a thousand times at least. Had he heeded my words sooner, this rebellion would have been crushed in a fortnight. But it is not too late. There is no better man to take charge of the governance of the kingdom and restore peace.”

Symond looked ready to pounce on the grand maester so their argument might continue, but Elia cut off whatever he meant to say. 

“Thank you, grand maester,” she said. “We will consider him when the time comes to appoint a new Hand.”

“But the time is now. We-”

“Right now, we must keep our attention on the war,” she continued, wishing her voice had more power behind it. “An army is marching toward King’s Landing. My husband would have led our own forces to meet the rebels, but he is gone. What we must needs decide is whether to continue with his plans or form our own. Do you have thoughts?”

They all glanced around at each other. 

“Come now, my lords, you were yelling back and forth when we came in,” Elia pointed out. “Surely you have some thoughts on how to handle the rebels. You couldn’t possibly have been more concerned with who would be the next Hand rather than how we would survive the rest of the war.”

It was a gentle slap, but she hoped it stung.

“Were we to continue with the prince’s plan, who would lead our army?” Lord Ardrian ventured.

“I would take command of the army we have assembled,” Lewyn said. “We can depart this very day, if needs be. We were meant to march yesterday. A day’s delay would be nothing.”

“Nothing but the loss of our king and our prince,” Symond said sourly. “How can we hope to move forward so easily with no king to sit the Iron Throne and no prince to inspire our men?”

“Now you mourn your prince?” Queen Rhaella’s remark was made all the more surprising by the heat in her tone, though her gaze didn’t meet anyone’s. “The prince you spoke against so often? I had thought to see you celebrating, my lord.”

Elia tried not to cringe. As well pleased as she was for her good mother to be more assertive in this meeting, they couldn’t afford to lose the support of these men. Not yet. Not now.

“We had the right of it, seems to me,” Lucerys insisted. “Prince Rhaegar set this table the moment he kidnapped a girl who was the daughter of one high lord and the betrothed of another. Had he kept to his own wife, none of this would have befallen the realm.”

There was truth in that. Elia had wished the third child her husband needed could come from a woman her husband could engage with discreetly. But still, this was too much. Elia wanted to calm the waters, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Tell me, Lord Velaryon, what is more likely to set the people against their king? Running away with one girl or slaughtering several lords and their heirs?”

“You dare speak against our king?” the Lord of the Tides thundered.

“My son only just learned to walk,” Elia said, struggling to keep her voice pleasant. “He hasn’t roasted anyone in their own armor as yet. I was referring to our  _ old _ king. The one who burned himself and his heir alive.”

She expected the situation to escalate, yet Symond and Lucerys slumped back in their seats, mouths pinched. The last of Aerys’ lickspittles who hadn’t been burned or exiled, these men had profited much from the mad king’s rule. They must have just now fully realized the shift in power and the changing of the game.

After a moment of silence, Elia opened her mouth to return to the coming battle when Rhaella spoke again. 

“You both have the right of it,” the queen dowager began, her eyes never leaving the table in front of her. “Aerys and Rhaegar both set this table for us. Now they are both dead.” She swallowed, gaze still meeting no one else’s. “What if we were to make a peace?”

“Peace!” everyone at the table cried or choked out.

“Robert Baratheon is a traitor calling himself a king!” Lucerys shouted.

“Good mother, any olive branch would tell them we are beaten,” Elia said. “They would think us weak. That would only encourage them to continue in their treason.”

“Those who began this folly are dead,” Rhaella insisted, finally raising her eyes to Elia’s. “Were we to rescind Aerys’ demand for the heads of cousin Robert and Lord Eddard, return the Northern girl, and take hostages, we could make a peace.”

“This is why women have no place in the ruling of the realm,” Symond said, snapping Elia’s attention away from the queen. “That is grief and a woman’s fear talking.”

The fool decided it for her.

“The realm is bleeding,” Elia said. “I would be more pleased were the rebels pushing for peace, but continuing bloodshed is not a sign of strength.”

“Neither is showing your belly to the foe,” Lucerys drawled.

Elia looked pointedly at the queen. “We said naught of showing our bellies. We spoke of taking hostages to ensure the loyalty of the rebels. Our armies will continue to stand until theirs have returned home. If they balk at our terms, it will be to the spears then.”

“But, the Northern girl,” Pycelle began. “She is surely ruined.”

“She is with child,” Elia confirmed tightly. “Once she gives birth to the prince’s daughter, the Crown will take charge of the babe and Lyanna Stark can be returned to her brother.”

“Robert Baratheon isn’t like to wed her now,” the grand maester insisted. “He isn’t likely to see her return as compensation at all.”

“She may not make so great a match as the Lord of Storm’s End now,” Elia agreed. “But the prince always intended to contribute greatly to her dowry. We can promise the same. Lady Stark will not be without suitors who will want that gold, as well as a high born wife of proven fertility.”

The princess noticed everyone at the table staring at her queerly. 

A half smile on his face, Lucerys asked, “Your husband informed you of his intentions with the handling of his mistress?”

Of course they wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t. Rhaegar had been more her friend than her lover. There hadn’t existed any passion between them, nor any possibility of it. Though they became fond of one another and did not shy from their duty in making heirs, were her husband not the crown prince, he would have been happy to keep to Jon Connington’s bed. If she meant to be jealous, it would have been of the Lord of Griffin’s Roost, not the young girl her husband barely knew before his visions told him of her role in Aegon’s destiny. But she held no resentment anymore than he resented her love for Arthur. 

She couldn’t tell them any of that, though.

“Yes, my husband trusted me enough to share his plans,” she said. “Now, we must agree on the terms we will offer the rebels.”

It took the better part of two hours to be of one mind on all the terms they were willing to agree to, along with the initial offers to present before making “concessions.” The whole process tempted Elia to suggest that they handle the usurper with a clean dose of poison to settle the matter and then offer terms to Arryn and Stark once he was dead. But the memory of Rhaegar’s response to that very suggestion just a fortnight ago made her keep the notion to herself for the nonce. Then it took most of another hour to decide who would deliver these terms. 

“This is why we are in dire need of a Hand!” Pycelle insisted. “A strong Hand would be the obvious choice to speak with the king’s voice in this matter. Lord Tywin could-”

A chill ran through Elia at the thought of Tywin Lannister speaking for her son for the next fifteen years. The former Hand had silently despised her since the second she arrived in King’s Landing. Or perhaps the animosity began years before when her mother presumed to reach for matches between her and Oberyn and his golden twins. He had never treated her with anything but cold courtesy, yet she could always feel the rage behind it. Should he return as Hand, Lord Lannister wouldn’t be likely to be any happier about her being a regent than he was about her being the crown prince’s wife.

“Lord Tywin was sent for as soon as my son returned to the city,” Rhaella said. “He has made no answer.”

Elia had forgotten that, but she took hold of it just the same. “Yes, he may not wish to return to the office. He resigned and has made no effort to reclaim the title even when asked. When he learns of Ser Jaime’s death, he may wish to remain at Casterly Rock to grieve.”

Symond and Lucerys were quick to latch onto that as an excuse to keep their rival at bay. That, in turn, made the princess fear that it was the wrong choice. Her husband had thought Lord Tywin was the right man for the position. Shaking her head slowly, she shoved the doubt away for later and focused on the matter at hand. 

In the end, they agreed that Uncle Lewyn and Symond would journey under a peace banner to treat with the rebels. But they would bring the army with them so the rebels knew they didn’t fear battle. That seemed to make all sides begrudgingly happy.

Elia waited until the council members had departed, leaving her alone with those she trusted. That proved to be a good choice. When Elia rose from her seat, the floor seemed to tilt beneath her and the princess had to steady herself with both hands pressed against the table. 

“Elia?” Teora and Uncle Lewyn cried together. Her uncle pressed a palm to the small of her back as her lady-in-waiting rushed forward to steady her.

The world slowly began to settle, but she didn’t dare move. A pair of serving men and a small litter returned Elia to her rooms in Maegor’s Holdfast. Her ladies fussed about her and Uncle Lewyn sent for Maester Rennifer. Once she was settled, the white knight hurried off to make the troops ready. Eyes closed, she endured the maester’s lecturing about her overtaxing her body and her nerves. When he learned that she had failed to break her fast that morning, he was beside himself with worry, instructing her ladies to race to the kitchen for blood oranges, cooked spinach, and meat, preferably beef. 

“You know you mustn’t over exert yourself,” Rennifer fretted. “Not physically or emotionally. You know how little strength you have in your reserves. You mustn’t squander it!”

“Restoring peace to Westeros is no waste,” she said, watching the children chase Balerion about the room. The cat seemed to be toying with them, allowing them to come within a hair’s width of him before darting away, quick as lightning.

“The burden of rule will only grow more strenuous,” he warned. “Leaving the affairs of the kingdom to the king’s small council-” 

“Could result in our ruin,” she interrupted. “The council is a body that’s pulling itself in different directions at once. It’s in want of a head to guide it.”

“The queen dowager-”

“-will guide it with me. If the rebels were telling it true that they only wished to unseat a madman, they will return to the king’s peace. If not, we have far greater numbers and a fresh army of Reachmen to the south.” 

She didn’t mention how those greater numbers did not prevent the rebels from winning every battle thus far. This war could go on indefinitely. The maester surely knew that too, though he had finally gone silent, busying himself with the copious notes he kept on her and her frailty. 

Even with the sounds of her children running through the rooms and her ladies sewing or chatting around her, a deep and profound loneliness swelled within Elia. Gods how she wished Arthur or Oberyn were here. To help her feel safe and assure her that she made the right choices. Uncle Lewyn helped and the ladies who remained with her were a balm, but he would be gone to face their enemies on the morrow. She pushed the feeling down and focused on the present. There was so much to do.

“Why are you rising?” Maester Rennifer demanded as she pushed herself up from the couch. 

“Because I am the sun of Dorne,” she said. Her vision blurred slightly as she put her hands out to steady herself. This would not do.

“Princess!”

Slowly, she eased herself back onto the couch, eyes closed. “I must write to my uncle. Not Ser Lewyn. Teora’s father. Lord Garibald Manwoody. We can trust him to bring Lady Lyanna to King’s Landing. And a letter to Lord Tywin to tell him of his son.”

“Let me write the letters, my princess,” said the voice of Larra Blackmont. 

“A fine plan,” the maester said. 

While some of her ladies had found excuses to escape King’s Landing and the princess’ service as Robert Baratheon waxed from a rebellious lord into a true threat, Larra and a few others had remained by her side, along with Larra’s husband. That might not last long as Larra’s belly began to show more and more. 

Elia began to dictate the letter, her eyes still squeezed shut. By the time it was finished, she heard the sound of wood scraping against the stone floor beside her and opened her eyes to see the spread of food the other ladies brought for her.

“Eat,” Teora urged. 

While she dictated the letter for Lord Tywin, Rennifer kept interrupting her with questions about how she felt, scribbling notes out while she answered even as Larra wrote out the rest of her words. By the time both of them were finished, she was able to see clearly and start eating the warm spinach and flavorless chicken, leaving the blood orange to be savored last.

“If you would be so good, send the letter from the rookery yourself, Maester Rennifer,” Elia said. “The sooner we have Lady Lyanna in our care, the sooner we can forge this peace.”

“The grand maester will mislike me interfering with his ravens,” Rennifer said. 

She smiled. “I am certain he will survive it.”

With the maester gone, Elia’s ladies fell in on her with a flurry of questions, their matching orange and red gowns rustling. 

“What happened to the prince?” little Lady Myria Jordayne asked.

“What of the war?” Nymella Toland asked. “Will our men still march? Who will lead them?”

“Mightn’t we return home to Dorne now that the Mad King isn’t here to stop you?” pleaded Clarisse Yronwood.

“We can’t!” Mellei Qorqyle insisted, giddy with excitement. “Didn’t you hear? The princess is to be regent! Will the fighting stop now that the king and the prince are gone?”

Elia raised a hand for silence and waited for them to comply. Then she answered each question as best she could. The prospect of peace cheered them and they were well pleased at the prospect of serving as ladies to a regent. They went about their duties, lively and chatting.

Nymella pulled a chair close to the princess and sat. “I know I only proclaim the obvious, but this will change everything. Everything. A Dornish woman reigning as regent for an infant son. Gods be praised. You will have the power to set matters right with these northerners.”

“I’ve thought of that too,” Elia confessed, rubbing her throbbing temples. Any changes in these northern laws must needs be slow lest the kingdoms rebel. But so much good can be achieved in fifteen years.”

“By the time our young king is of age….” Nymella continued with a smile.

“He may wish to continue his mother’s work,” Elia finished.  _ So long as my weak body doesn’t restrain me from action. _

The maester returned a quarter of an hour later, blustering about that “damned pompous grand maester”. By then, Elia was feeling well enough to pull her children onto the couch and read to them.

“He had the termarity to scold me for not sending for him so he might write the letters himself!” Rennifer cried. “My only purpose is to see to your health, not ‘meddle’ in matters of the realm, to hear him tell it. He all but threatened to open them to see what the letters said.”

“Did you tell him what we wrote?”

“No. I told him that if your highness wished to make him privy to the information, you would inform him yourself.”

It wasn’t a secret she needed to keep from the grand maester, but she could see what might lead her maester to withhold the knowledge, if only to heckle him.

“I made certain to watch him send your letters unopened before I left,” Rennifer continued. “It seems he was busy with his own letter before I arrived. Lady Larra saved him the necessity of writing yet another one, the way I see it.”

Elia briefly wondered who he was writing to. Mayhaps the Citadel to inform them of all the upheaval. That could do no harm. 

The ones she was most concerned about on the council were the lords. Unlike the grand maester, they had knights and sworn swords in their service, not to mention banners they could call, which were much closer than her own. Were the three to unite the retinues they had on hand in the city, they could overpower her own household guard as well as the queen’s. Once they had their hands on the children, they could make themselves the regents and there was little Elia would be able to do. 

“I might want to keep a goodly number of our Dornishmen here with me,” she said. “Five hundred or so. Larra, your husband, Ser Benedict, could take command of them.”

Maester Rennifer turned to her in surprise. “Does my princess believe the rebels will refuse us?”

Elia gave her children a gentle squeeze. “Your princess fears enemies inside the walls.”

He nodded, becoming grim. 

“Mayhaps a thousand would serve you better,” Larra suggested. 

Elia gave a firm nod. “Better to discourage rebellion than to put yet another one down.”


	2. Chapter 2

Carrying a wriggling and curious Aegon in her arms, Elia rode in a litter down to the camps to see off the troops. The journey through the streets of the city gave her an opportunity to feel the pulse of the people. Surely rumors must have spread beyond the Red Keep’s walls of the prince and king’s deaths. Though the commons didn’t flood the streets at their approach, those they passed watched them curiously and shouted out their names. That was encouraging.

What was even more encouraging was the sight of the ranks of soldiers ready to depart. This could all be over in a fortnight.

All things considered, Elia thought they made a good show of sending the army off. They walked among the men, stopping to talk to some at random. The men seemed charmed by Rhaenys dashing here and there with her septa and guard racing behind. When she and Rhaella tried to give a speech on a hastily erected platform, Aegon decided to start shouting half formed words. 

“As you can hear, he already has his battlefield voice,” Elia quipped, sending a chuckle through those who could hear her.

With the army’s departure, there was little to do but wait for word of the outcome, whether it meant battle or negotiation. 

Despite the uncertainty, Elia strangely felt more at ease in the following weeks than she had since arriving in the Crownlands for her wedding four years ago. The familiar weight that rested on her chest had lifted with the death of the king. She no longer had to fear what King Aerys would do next nor jolt whenever Lord Tywin’s accusing gaze fell upon her. She no longer had to dread risking her life in the bloody bed. And, treacherously, her husband’s melancholy nature no longer dragged her own mood. Even Maester Rennifer noted the change in the princess’ temperament and took her increase in smiles and japes as a sign of her improved health. 

The only vexations came during council meetings, but that was to be expected as part of ruling. No government ran smoothly, not even her mother’s had. There were always the clashes of differing agendas and the flexing of power, and of course the actual concerns of the people. Without such, there would be no need of leaders at all. Still, Elia couldn’t help but wonder if the council members had dared question and challenge Aerys, Rhaegar, or any of the former Hands the way they did her and Rhaella.

The first order of business was finding and punishing someone responsible for the deaths of the king and crown prince. They couldn’t be seen as idle or benefiting from their deaths. As far as Elia was concerned, the ones responsible, other than Aerys himself, were the Guild of Alchemists. Thankfully, the council agreed. With Rossart dead alongside the others, that left Wisdoms Garigus and Belis to take the lion’s share of the blame for the burnings and deaths the king had enjoyed.

The people of King’s Landing cheered at the executions of the wisdoms and again after Elia and the council announced that the guild would be disbanded. She made no mention of the hordes of wildfire they found in jars that King Aerys had apparently ordered be made for some purpose that would now need to be disposed of in some way. 

One issue with the council that did trouble the princess regent was the issue of Aegon’s heir. Elia had come to accept that these northerners would never allow Rhaenys to come before her brother in the line of succession, despite the fact that the gods put the girl first themselves when she was born. But she was not prepared for her daughter to be placed after Prince Viserys and after any sons she had herself.

“The Dance was more than a century past, but surely we would not wish for a repeat of that affair,” Ardrian Celtigar said.

Elia smiled for him. “If I am recalling my history correctly, the trouble was not a lawful female heir but a younger brother usurping his sister. Had a man who was lower in the line of succession not tried to steal what wasn’t his, the bloodshed could have been avoided.”

“It isn’t likely to be an issue,” Lucerys drawled. “The king is healthy and hardy and when he grows old enough, he will wed Rhaenys himself. If by some chance the gods take him from us, Viserys will wed Rhaenys, solving the question of birthright.”

Elia managed to suppress a grimace at that, but Rhaella voiced her outrage on both of their behalfs. 

“ _ No _ ,” the queen dowager said in a tone that resounded through the small council chamber. 

“Your Grace, I-”

“We will not force the children to marry each other,” Rhaella said. Eyes downcast, she drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, but still continued on firmly. “Should they feel an inclination toward each other when they grow older, I will see no reason to deny them. But we will not force them to marry.”

“You feel the same, princess?” Lucerys asked after a pause.

They did that. They prodded and pried to find a divide they might exploit between her and Rhaella. Elia tried her best to respond to such attempts with a smile and a vague response, always intending to discuss differences of views with the queen dowager in private. But this was not an issue she had different views on.

“My son has only one year and my daughter is but three,” she said with a smile. “I hadn’t thought to marry them to anyone so soon. Even so, there isn’t much to be gained in wedding them to each other.”

“Yes,” Grand Maester Pycelle said. “With the dragons dead, there is no need to keep the blood of the dragon pure. There is no power to be had there any longer.”

Though he agreed with her, there was something about that statement that didn’t sit well with Elia. Still, as a council they agreed that there was no pressing need to name any of the children the prince or princess of Dragonstone. If the gods were good, there would be no need to name anyone until Aegon was old enough to have children of his own and if they raised him well enough, he wouldn’t look to his sister as a mother for those children.

Just as Elia began to anticipate word of how the negotiations went with every new raven, the last thing she expected appeared at the gates of King’s Landing early one morning: a crimson cloaked pride of lions.

“Lord Tywin has finally come to aid us in the war,” Pycelle assured them, as they prepared to meet the Lannister envoy. 

They received Ser Kevan in the nearly empty great hall. A few of Elia and Rhaella’s ladies stood in the gallery, the dresses of orange and red contrasting with the black and crimson of the queen’s ladies. A blend of Targaryen and Dornish guards stood sentinel along the walls and at every door, commanded by Ser Benedict.

“We have marched twelve thousand men here to protect the city,” Ser Kevan said as he stood before the hastily assembled council with a retinue of twenty red cloaked men. Lannister’s eyes swept over the ruined hall taking in the signs of construction and the sagging throne. He was not impressed.

Elia felt a tightening in her chest. Mayhaps they should have greeted him elsewhere.

“Your brother was sent for nearly two moons ago,” Lucerys Velaryon said. “Yet now he comes unannounced with an army at our gates? What are we to make of this?”

“Lord Tywin brings an army to protect the city,” Ser Kevan said evenly. “Lord Tywin sent word of our plans as soon as we received the king’s command for aid. I take it the raven never arrived.”

“Would that it had,” Lucerys said snidely. “We might have saved you and your men an arduous journey. Ser Lewyn Martell and Lord Symond Staunton are even now negotiating peace terms with the rebels. There is no need for this army at our door.”

“The crown sues for peace?” Ser Kevan asked, incredulity shattering his cool expression.

“We do not wish for the realm to bleed any further,” Rhaella said.

“A wise measure,” Ser Kevan said, though Elia could see the contempt behind the courtesy in those green eyes.

“Another wise measure,” Grand Maester Pycelle said, “might be to open our gates to Lord Tywin so he might protect us should the negotiations go poorly.”

The Lord of the Tides laughed. “A pride of lions is at our gates and our grand maester councils us to let them devour us.”

“House Lannister is loyal to the crown!” Pycelle insisted.

“Tell me, maester,” Lucerys drawled. “Did you ever serve House Targaryen or were you always Tywin Lannister’s instrument?”

“I serve the realm!” the maester blustered.

Elia stood so she might hold attention without raising her voice and gave their guest a warm smile. “Ser Kevan, House Lannister has our thanks for coming to our aid. We will not forget this. But this war is near its end. Having such a large host around the city will go hard on the common people. You must return to your homes.”

Ser Kevan smiled in return. “After the forced march, our troops need rest.”

“We cannot have an army eating the Crownlands bare for no purpose,” Lucerys said. “The princess regent has told you to return to the West.”

“We see House Lannister’s loyalty in this act, but as we have said, peace is all but secured now,” Elia said as graciously as she could. “We will hold a feast to honor you and your brother on the morrow. But within the week, your troops must be on their way home.”

Ser Kevan returned her smile. “I am certain my brother will be grateful for your hospitality.”

“He will leave his soldiers outside the walls,” Lucerys said. 

She tried not to cringe at the harshness of his tone. “Yes, this will be the beginning of a peaceful time.”

“Of course, princess,” Kevan said with a slight bow.

As he made to leave, Rhaella stopped him. “Ser, please send our condolences to Lord Tywin for his son.”

“We grieve for Ser Jaime with you,” Elia added. “He was so full of promise.”

“Yes,” Kevan said in a tone made of steel. “Jaime was the future of House Lannister. He was taken from us far too soon.”

With that, he and his retinue departed.

“I warn you,” Lucerys said once the Lannister men were gone. “Tywin Lannister is as much a fox as a lion. He did not assemble an army and force a march for no purpose.”

“Ser Kevan  _ explained  _ their purpose,” Pycelle said.

“Lord Tywin was behind that tourney at Harrenhal,” the Lord of the Tides continued as though he hadn’t heard the maester. “Never doubt it. He meant to lure the entire realm there with the promise of grand prizes so he might convene a council to remove our king. We thwarted him then, but the realm’s woes were born there just the same.”

Elia kept her face smooth as she slowly lowered herself into her seat and tried to think what Lord Tywin’s true motives were. Unfortunately, Lucerys was right on at least one point. The former Hand had secretly worked with them to arrange the tourney. It seemed such an elegant solution at the time. All the might of the realm would meet and agree that Aerys was not fit to rule. Then, peacefully, they would have removed him from the Iron Throne and kept him safely tucked away on Dragonstone while Rhaegar ruled as prince regent. Without Lord Tywin silently backing the plot, they never would have had enough gold to tempt so many from across the realm. 

But Lord Tywin hadn’t plotted against House Targaryen. He merely wished to put a competent ruler on the throne. Aerys was dead now, but then so was Rhaegar.

The memory of those green eyes settling upon her, cold with promise, sent a chilly finger down Elia’s spine. 

Rhaegar, the promising young prince was not there to sit the throne as they had planned. He also wasn’t there to set Elia aside so he could marry Tywin’s daughter, which Elia had always suspected was the former Hand’s motivation for helping. What could his new plan be? Was it to seize control of the regency? Were he to succeed, many of these northern lords would agree that he was more fit than a sickly Dornish woman, even with the dowager queen beside her.

It was Rhaella’s voice that brought her back to the moment.

“My lords, we cannot bicker amongst ourselves,” she said. “We must be united. We serve the same cause.”

There was a silence before Pycelle blustered, “Yes, of course we do. We all serve the realm.”

For his part, Lucerys drawled, “The king’s small council serves the king.”

The princess and the queen shared a look, knowing this was the most they could coax out of this quarlous council. 

Back in Maegor’s Holdfast, Elia found Jonothor Darry holding the bridge. She and Rhaella greeted him with forced cheer, asking if the longer shifts taxed him too hard. 

“I do my duty, Your Graces,” the white knight said. “Willem and your Dornishmen are a great help. The king is well protected.”

“You have our thanks, ser,” Elia said.

Before they could move along, Ser Jonothor continued. “My brother and I were talking with Prince Viserys yesterday. The lad aims to be a knight. You know Willem well. He is as fine a master-at-arms as any castle can boast. He could begin the prince’s training as soon as Your Graces see fit.”

“But he is so young,” Rhaella protested.

“Your Grace knows what is best,” the knight said. “But there are younger lads than him running drills in the yard.”

Elia saw fear overtake her good mother’s features, so she hastily stepped in. “Mayhaps we could discuss this with Ser Willem later and see what would be required of the prince before the queen makes her choice.”

She knew Ser Jonothor had the right of it. It was past time for Viserys to begin his training in the yard and spending time with children his own age. Yet Rhaella always seemed so fearful for the boy, keeping him close and scarcely allowing him outside of Maegor’s Holdfast. Mayhaps it was Aerys who had made her so fearful, but he was gone now.

“I know you disagree with me,” Rhaella said, quietly as they reached the narrow turnpike stairs. 

Elia glanced behind them and gestured for their ladies and guards to slow their paces. The princess and the queen ascended the stairs some distance ahead of them. 

“He must learn,” Elia said gently. “The sooner he begins the more skilled he will become.”

The queen shook her head. “Rhaegar began his training late and he was as fine a lance as could be seen. But...gods, that is when he began to change. He was always a solitary boy. Not lonely. Never lonely. He craved his privacy, his time alone with his music and his books and scrolls. The trouble began when one of those books told him he must become a warrior and he began to train in arms.”

“Trouble?” Elia asked. 

She had expected her good mother to speak of her fear that Viserys might take on his father’s violent tendencies. She never knew there were any troubles as far as Rhaegar went. He was everything his father wasn’t. Rhaegar was calm and steady where Aerys’ temper was extreme whether he felt fear, joy, or wroth, single-minded where the king was ever changing and erratic, and selective with his companions and allies while the king’s favorites shifted depending on who pleased him most in the moment. In short, Rhaegar had always seemed the perfect prince, especially when compared to his father. 

“Yes,” Rhaella continued. “The trouble. The visions and the thoughts of destiny drove him to this. He never would have taken that girl and caused this war if he hadn’t been driven by this prophecy.”

Elia turned that over in her mind. These last few weeks had put her in the queen’s company far more often than the rest of the past four years they had known each other. She had never spoken of her husband’s visions with anyone but him, not even Arthur or Uncle Lewyn, though they knew of them too. The only exception was when Rhaegar himself spoke of them with the few of them who were within his trusted circle: herself, Arthur, Uncle Lewyn, Jon Connington, Myles Mooton, and Richard Longmouth. But even then, it was Rhaegar leading these discussions. His presence had been hypnotic, drawing all eyes, all responses to him. When he spoke, the iron tones of his voice, the certainty in his eyes made the rest of them believe his words, no matter how incredible they sounded. When his gaze became fixated on something only he could see and he spoke of what he saw, no one doubted him.

So after Aegon’s birth, when Rhaegar’s gaze drifted off to something she couldn’t see, Elia believed the truth of what he said.  _ The dragon must have three heads.  _ He told her of a young woman with silver hair in winter furs, a lilac dragon draped about her neck. He saw her as the third head of the dragon along with Aegon and Rhaenys. That would be Visenya, the daughter he made with the Stark girl.

“Did he always have visions?” Elia asked, stopping at the door to the nursery floor. Their ladies and guards stopped as well a floor below, just in sight. “Rhaegar, I mean. Did the gods always send him foretellings of what is to come?”

“I do not know that the gods sent the visions,”Rhaella said, her lovely face pinched in thought. But yes. Yes since he was small. He was such a stoic child. Nothing like his father. The visions seemed to drive him. Gave him certainty.”

Certainty. Elia tossed that idea around in her mind for the rest of the evening until retiring for bed. Rhaegar had been melancholy with a sense of accepted foreboding around him. And certainty. That certainty convinced her and those in his circle of many things they might have resisted. She didn’t know what to do with those thoughts, but they were difficult to shake.

“When is Fadder coming back?” Rhaenys asked that night when Elia gave her and Aegon their goodnight kisses. 

Her little daughter had asked that same question countless times in the past few weeks. No matter how many times Elia, Maester Rennifer, or any of her ladies explained that Rhaegar wasn’t coming back, the little girl only looked confused. That night was no different. 

“Your father was called away to one of the Seven Heavens,” Elia explained. “He won’t be coming back, but he loves you very much.”

Someday, Rhaenys would stop asking that question. The ache it left in the princess’ chest made her almost grateful that Aegon would never  _ start  _ asking. He would have no memory of his father at all. 

When sleep claimed Elia, images of fire breathing lions stalked her dreams in a haze of smoke and blood.

A frantic clanging of the bells jolted Elia awake. She sat up too quickly and a lightheadedness overtook her. But she had to move. Something was wrong. Through the fuzziness of her half conscious mind the only clear thought that came to her was that Lucerys was right. Those bells could only mean battle in the city. 

Mellei, the lady-in-waiting on duty that night, was instantly awake as well, rushing about to light a candle and help the princess into her bedrobe. The muffled sounds of shouting could be heard between the resounding clangs of the bells.

Elia had almost reached the door before two of her guards and Ser Barristan came bursting through.

“Where are the children?” she asked. “What’s happening?”

As if in answer to part of her questions, Rhaenys came shooting between them fast as a loosed arrow.

“Madder! Fadder!” she cried as she barrelled into Elia’s legs and wrapped her arms around them.

Elia stroked her hair and looked up to the men for further answers.

“Ser Jonothor is with the king,” Ser Barristan explained. “The Lannisters are attacking the city. Men inside our walls attempted to open the Gate of the Gods for them. Our men stopped them But the Lion Gate is open. The City Watch and Ser Benedict’s men are holding them back and attempting to retake the gate, but-”

“What of the other five gates,” Elia asked. She could hear the panic in her own voice even as her heart beat louder in her ears. They ought to have fled to Dorne the moment Aerys died. They could be safe in Sunspear even now if she hadn’t been so determined to take hold of her son’s government.

“The men who hold them are on high alert,” the knight continued. “ But we may be forced to fall back. Better to give ground and lose the city than risk the castle. If we can hold the Red Keep long enough and send word to Lord Tyrell, they could take Lannister in the rear.” 

“If they  _ allow _ us to send word,” Elia cried. “They will shoot down every raven we loose.” 

“The River Gate is still ours for the nonce.”

“Might we escape on one of the ships?” Mellei’s voice came from behind her.

“I dare not risk the king or the royal family.” Barristan shook his head. “Should the Lannisters overtake us in the city, all would be lost. But we might risk sending a few out to cross the river.”

Elia nodded. “Yes, send someone you trust across the river to Lord Tyrell at Storm’s End. If you can, have Lord Velaryon send ships out to harbor and have one go to the Redwyne fleet in case the men you send across the river are stopped along the way. Once they are dispatched and the commons are within the walls of the Red keep, our men can fall back to defend the castle. We can withstand a short siege.”

Ser Barristan’s blue eyes crinkled with concern. “Princess, surely we cannot allow the smallfolk behind the walls of the castle.”

Elia’s fear dissipated for a moment and she studied the knight critically. 

“They are my son’s people,” she insisted. “What purpose do we serve if not to protect them? Now make haste, ser.”

Ser Barristan bowed his head. “As my princess commands. I will have the drawbridge to Maegor’s drawn up as well.”

That was for the good. In all the chaos with Elia’s own forces occupied there would be no better time for Velaryon and Celtigar to bring their own retinues to Maegor’s so they might take control of the children. With any luck, they were occupied with the defense of the city as well. 

As he raced ahead, Elia took Rhaenys by the hand and followed him down a flight to the nursery while the white knight hurried onward. She nodded to Ser Jonnothor on her way into the nursery and found Aegon standing in his crib. He cried out, “Madda, Madda, Madda” and reached for her. As the princess hurried to reach him, she noticed Dara, their nurse, standing at the window, the shutters open. The girl jolted at the sound of Elia making soothing noises as she lifted Aegon into her arms.

_ He has grown so big _ , she thought. Too big for her to hold without sitting down soon.  _ Gods, let my children grow taller still. Don’t let this be the end of us. _

“Princess,” Dara said with a curtsy. “Will the city be taken?”

“No,” Elia said firmly. She strode to the window beside the girl, Mellei and Rhaenys following behind. “Our men will hold the city. The Tyrell host will break the Lannisters from the south and my Uncle Lewyn is surely on his way from the north.”

The words were meant to comfort herself as much as the girl. 

They didn’t see very much of the fighting from where they were. Only torches in streets with the faint sounds of steel striking steel and the muffled shouts that could be heard between the clanking of bells told them that men were fighting and dying below.

Soon, Elia’s ladies drifted in to inquire after what was happening. After being assured that all was well and they couldn’t possibly be safer than in Maegor’s, many of them returned to their chambers below leaving Elia with Mellei, Larra, Dara, and the children. 

“The queen,” the princess whispered. “Mellei, go to the queen’s rooms and see if she is well. I don’t know if Ser Barristan went to her before coming to me.”

“Yes, my princess,” the girl said with a curtsy. 

When she returned some time later, Elia and Larra were both sitting in the window seat, exhausted but unable to even contemplate sleep.

“The queen dowager is ill,” she reported. “Denyse Hightower told me she has been emptying her stomach in the privy every so often for days.”

_ She is with child,  _ Elia realized, remembering the bruises and bite marks on the queen that couldn’t always be concealed beneath her dresses. The ones Rhaegar never wanted to take note of. 

“There is naught we can do but leave her be,” the princess said. “She will be safe in her rooms.”

For the next half hour, there was no more word from Ser Barristan or anyone else on how the defense of the castle was proceeding. That left them with nothing to do but worry and distract themselves from worry with meaningless chatter before wandering back over to the window in a futile effort to see something new. There was never anything new.

“What can he possibly mean by this?” Larra cried out abruptly dropping into the couch beside Elia. “Lord Tywin. Has he joined the rebels? If the peace is won, he will stand alone against the realm and all will know him for a traitor.”

Elia had wondered that too. Should he succeed, he couldn’t wed his daughter to Rhaegar. He may be attempting a violent grab for control of the regency. But fifteen years was a very long time and kings who came into power after regency’s they had no liking for weren’t always generous to those who had controlled them. No, Elia had to wonder if his goal was to wipe them out quickly and efficiently the way he had done to the Reynes and Tarbecks. Should both of her children and Viserys die, the Iron Throne would be open to the would be Usurper or even to Tywin himself. 

But the words she said next were even more bleak than all that.

“Should Lord Tywin succeed, I don’t know how many will see him as a traitor,” Elia said watching a dozing Aegon in her arms. Rhaenys had fallen asleep as well and Dara had carried her back to her little bed.

“Every man and woman in Dorne will know him for a traitor,” Mellei insisted from the window seat. 

“Yes.” The princess nodded. “But who else? After what Aerys has done, would so many rise in our defense? If they have accepted our peace offers or no, the rebels are like to see what House Lannister does here as justice. What allies does House Targaryen have who will avenge it’s demise? The Velaryons and Celtigars are powerful at court because of their connection to the royal House. If there is no royal House, their power doesn’t stretch far beyond the islands they call home. The Tyrells are loyal, but will they continue their loyalty after my children are dead? No, those flowers survive by looking to their own interests.”

In truth, Elia had been surprised that the Tyrells had remained loyal so long as they had, even with Janna Tyrell serving as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Rhaella. Though their contribution to the war had been centered in keeping themselves out of as much danger as possible, they had still been true to them. 

“I don’t mean to frighten you,” Elia said, though she had thoroughly frightened herself. “But there is no hiding from the truth that should we die here, only Dorne will act in our defense.”

Her mind went straight to Oberyn and Arthur. Would they convince Doran to go to war against Casterly Rock? If they did, they would lose. Her best chance at vengeance would be through Uncle Lewyn and the troops he led away. Should he return after a Lannister victory, he would smash them.

“Thankfully,” she said with a false air of cheer. “Our knights and guards will hold until reinforcements arrive. We will be safe until then.”

Elia rose delicately, trying not to jossel Aegon too much. Just as she moved to join Mellei at the window seat so she could look out at the fighting, a steel clad hand shot up to grasp the stone windowsill. 

Shock grasped Elia by the throat and not a sound escaped her as a cold fear soaked down to her bones. She could only watch in silence as a massive figure in plate and helm heaved himself up through the window beside Mellei. The girl frowned in confusion at Elia until she followed her gaze to see the intruder. 

The scream that tore from Mellei as she scurried back toward the others was infectious. Aegon immediately woke in Elia’s arms wailing and within seconds, Rhaenys, Mellei, Larra, and Dara had taken up the cry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to give a quick warning for strong descriptions of violence. It's not worse than what can be found in the main series. But fair warning.

“Ser Jonothor!” Elia cried, backing toward the door, never taking her eyes from the steel-clad figure who stood taller than anything she had ever seen. No, that wasn’t right. She had seen someone that tall before. The young man Rhaegar knighted from the Westerlands. “Ser Gregor?!”

By then, another figure in boiled leather was halfway through the window and Ser Jonothor had come bursting into the room. Faster than she would have believed, the white knight dashed forward to put himself between them and the intruders, sword drawn. 

“Go, princess!” he cried, even as his sword met Gregor Clegane’s and his armored forearm deflected a swing from the second man. 

The women rushed out, the children in their arms, and closed the nursery door behind them.

“We ought to go up to your rooms, my princess, and bar the doors,” Mellei cried, frantically. 

Elia couldn’t blame the girl for saying something so foolish. She was young and afraid and wanted nothing but safety. But still, this provided an opportunity.

“Yes,” Elia said loudly with a fervent shake of her head and a firm gesture down the stairwell. “We will go up. We will be safe in my chambers.”

Fortunately, the others caught her meaning and they began hurrying down the stairs, Dara pulling Rhaenys along at the lead. But before Elia had taken more than two steps, a realization struck her and she grasped Larra by the shoulder.

“The queen,” she whispered. 

Larra’s dark eyes grew wide and the battle within the nursery grew louder. 

“I will warn her,” Larra said.

“And risk yourself and your babe?” Elia asked. “No. I-” She swallowed. Mellei and Dara were already out of sight so there was no calling them back without alerting the men out to kill them all. “I will warn the queen. Do not argue with me. You will need all the time you can get to lower the drawbridge and find a safe place to hide.” 

Acceptance washed over her as she pressed a few kisses to Aegon’s face and she shifted him to her pregnant lady-in-waiting’s arms, whispered soothing words as he struggled and babbled incoherently. 

“Hurry,” she whispered.

Without looking back, the princess rushed up the stairs, faster than she had ever dared, lest her heart give way. The pounding in her head increased almost masking the suddenly loud voices below of men shouting. They must have killed Ser Jonothor, she realized with a pang of grief. When Elia reached the floor of her own chambers, she quickly closed the door, hoping the men who must already be pursuing her would stop to search for her there before moving higher to the queen’s rooms. 

Gasping for breath and holding her chest in a futile attempt to still her racing heart, Elia finally stumbled into Rhaella’s chambers, the guard who stood watch at the door following her in.

“Princess!” Lady Denyse cried.

“Ba-bar the door,” Elia managed to rasp out. “Lannister men... scaled the walls.”

The Targaryen household guard rushed to obey while Lady Denyse helped Elia to a chair.

“Princess, what of the king?” the guard asked. 

_ Jate, _ Elia thought, struggling for breath.  _ His name is Jate. _

“The- k-king, my s-son.” She stopped and drew in a series of deep, calming breaths. “I sent my son down to the drawbridge with my ladies. I had to warn the queen and the prince. Most of our guards are defending the castle.”

Jate lifted his chin, clearly terrified but attempting to conceal it. This lone guard was their last defense. Him and the barred door.

As if following a cue in a mummer’s show, the door to the queen’s solar shook and the muffled voices of men could be heard from the other side. 

“Do any of the other doors have bars?” Elia asked.

Lady Denyse shook her head, face crumpling, ready to cry. 

The princess fought the urge to order her not to waste water. Tears would gain them nothing. 

“Is there anything else we might block the door with?” Elia asked.

A loud thrump shook the door.

Candlelight reflected off of the tears draining down Denyse’s face. “The queen’s wardrobe?” she suggested in a shrill, shaky tone.

“What’s happening?” Viserys appeared in the doorway of the bedchamber, the queen a step behind him with a hand on the prince’s shoulder.

“Men climbed through the nursery window,” Elia explained.

Rhaella gasped and wrapped her arms around Viserys.

The princess continued taking slow breaths to steady her heart. Though that wasn’t like to make a difference once that door came down. 

“We need to reinforce the door,” she continued. 

“What if-” Rhaella cried out when the next strike against the door sounded. “W-what if we go to the king’s chambers?”

“The back stair,” Jate said, relief etched in every feature.

The next crash against the door splintered wood.

Elia rose quickly, forcing herself to ignore a sudden wave of lightheadedness, and followed the queen back into her bedchamber, Denyse and Jate at her heels. Rhaella hurried to a tapestry in the far corner of the room and pulled up the side to reveal a door. That must have been how the king would discreetly come when he wished to terrorize his wife, Elia realized.

No sooner did the queen push the door open ahead of them then they heard the sounds of the door in the solar splintering apart and the angry tones of men’s voices. The five of them rushed into the small space. Denyse ran up the stairs while Rhaella closed the door as quietly as possible. With only the moonlight through the slit windows as light, the princess and the queen clasped hands and ascended the stairs.

Just as Elia was beginning to hope that they might delay the inevitable a while longer, a shriek sounded from up above.

“Denyse!” Rhaella gasped. 

_ No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, _ Elia chanted in her mind.

If the Lannisters had already reached the king’s rooms ahead of them and the queen’s below there was no hope for them. She comforted herself with the thought that Aegon and Rhaenys might have made it to safety by now. Unless they were overtaken as well. 

“Where are they?” a gruff voice sounded from above, drowning out Denyse’s pleading. “Stop your wailing, woman! Where are the children!”

“They can’t do this,” Viserys whispered from Rhaella’s other side. “They can’t hurt us. We’re dragons. We’ll burn them if they try to hurt us.”

“Hush,” the queen said.

With men thrashing about in the queen’s rooms below and at least one man above, they could do nothing but stand there trapped. How many men had come through the windows? Had no one in the castle noticed or was the Red Keep taken?

When Rhaella squeezed her hand, Elia realized that she didn’t hear Denyse anymore. Jate pulled his sword out and advanced a few steps ahead of them just as a man in boiled leather came rushing down the stairs from the king’s room. Sword clashed against sword in the cramped space. Elia pulled the queen and prince down to the base of the stairs with her, but that only left them backed against the door. 

Jate was holding the other man off, but the Lannister man at arms had the high ground where he could use weight against the guard, forcing the young man to go down a step every so often. 

Elia felt oddly numb watching the duel. No matter the outcome, they were lost. Even if Jate won, they would still be caught in the king’s rooms or right there in the stairwell.

She barely noticed the slight brush of air that passed behind her back before the steelclad hand yanked her back into the queen’s bedchamber.

The scream that filled her ears sounded too foriegn to be her own, yet even in the throws of another present danger, she knew it was her who sounded so frightened and feeble.

“STOP THAT SCREAMING!” the knight roared into her face before giving her the back of his hand.

The floor seemed to rise up to slam into her with a powerful force, leaving her body and cheek ablaze with pain. She tried to rise, but those metal hands were on her again as the massive form of Gregor Clegane loomed over her. The knight shook her hard by the shoulders.

“Where are the whelps?” he demanded.

“Gone,” she managed to gasp out.

Vaguely, she could hear other men in the rooms searching, turning over furniture, and tearing down tapestries. She wondered what happened to Rhaella and Viserys. Had this brute found her and thought there was no one else in that hidden passage?

“WHERE?!” Ser Gregor screamed.

It was nearly impossible to think with the pounding in her head and chest. Being shaken and screamed at did nothing to help either. She might have told him so if she could form the words and if there was any chance this beast might listen.

“I- I don’t- I won’t-” Elia stammered only to be shaken harder.

She could hear the sounds of more men in the outer room. How many had managed to breach Maegor’s? 

“Tell me where those whelps are or I’ll smash your fucking head in!” 

The sounds from the solar grew louder. Was it battle?

“No,” Elia said softly. “I wo-”

Ser Gregor threw her back to the floor.

“Fucking Dornish slut!”

He brought his fist up to strike her and she closed her eyes, waiting for the blow to fall. It never did. Instead, Elia heard a wet choking and felt a warm splatter across her chest. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes to see that Ser Gregor was still above her, only now the point of a bloody sword was lodged between his breastplate and helmet. He continued to move, grasping at the sword but not able to establish a firm grip. 

Ser Gregor’s body was shoved to the side to crumple on the floor beside the princess. With him out of the way, the very last person she had thought to see came into view, a sea green cloak over his blood splattered armor.

“ _ Lu-cerys _ ?” Elia gasped, frantically sucking in breaths.

The elegant Lord of the Tides knelt over her and traced a finger lightly over her tender cheek. “As I said this afternoon, my princess, I serve the king and the royal family.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Princess, please!” Maester Rennifer panted beside Elia’s litter.

“I’ve made up my mind,” she said quietly staring straight ahead at the swaying orange curtains of her litter.

“Look at you, you’re shaking,” the maester insisted. “You _must_ rest.”

Elia was well aware of the tremor in her hands. But she attributed that to the barely restrained rage inside of her. Rage at Tywin Lannister for sending men to kill her children, rage at Pycelle for aiding him, and rage at her own body for not giving her the strength to charge into the grand maester’s rooms under her own power and throttle him herself. She might not have the strength to throttle anyone, but she would be there when Pycelle was arrested. 

The castle was now as secure as they could ascertain with Ser Benedict commanding their men, her children were safely under the watchful eye of Ser Barristan -- the last of the Kingsguard left in the city, and there was naught to do but deal with the traitor in their midst. 

“Truly, you ought to be in bed,” Rennifer continued at her silence. “You were just attacked!”

“ _Was_ I?” Elia asked, still staring straight ahead. “Thank you for reminding me. I had almost forgotten.”

“Enough, maester,” Lucerys said as the litter came to a stop in front of the rookery. “The princess will decide when she should and should not rest.”

Even as the master of ships handed her out, Elia wasn’t certain how comfortable she was with his transition from Aerys’ lickspittle to, apparently, her own. As grateful as she was for his timely rescue -- and gods be good she was _immensely_ grateful -- she couldn’t determine what his motive had been. Had she and Rhaella died on Lannister swords and he had managed to hold the rest of the castle until one of their armies came to break the siege, Lucerys could have named himself regent without much opposition. From there, he could have wed Rhaenys to his son and Aegon to any daughters he might have should he take a second wife. Yet, he saved their lives anyway.

She had to set her thoughts on that to the side for the moment. For now there were more pressing matters.

The door to the maester’s chambers was locked and barred. At a gesture from Elia, one of her Dornishmen stepped forward with a war hammer and smashed the wood into splinters with three blows. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Pycelle cried in a voice turned shrill with fear. 

When Elia walked in behind a few of her knights, arm in arm with Teora for support, she found the old man standing behind his desk despite the late hour with what appeared to be forced dignity.

“Princess, your face,” he exclaimed. “Here, let me-”

Several spears dropped toward him.

“No, I don’t think I will let you do anything more,” Elia said. 

She fought the urge to touch the massive bruise. Earlier, after quickly washing and slipping into a new gown, she had seen her reflection in a mirror. A splotchy red mark with a few scrapes marred the rich golden skin. Experience from childhood told her the bruises all over her body would only worsen in the coming days going from red to purple to sickly yellowish green. And it was all this man’s fault.

“Grand Maester, is there any point in questioning you or will you only continue to spout lies?” Elia asked calmly. 

Lucerys laughed behind her.

“Forgive me, my princess, I am not certain of what you are referring to,” Pycelle said.

“I thought as much.” Elia nodded. “Search his chambers and the rookery. Look for the letters. I would know what other moves Tywin Lannister’s grey rat has been instructed to make.”

With that, her men and Lucerys’ swarmed forward to obey. Even Maester Rennifer took the opportunity to browse through the stores of salves, potions, and herbs.

“Please, there is some mistake- Put that down! Please, princess, I have been nothing but loyal to the realm!”

“You advised the council to open the gates for Tywin Lannister, the very man who forced his way into the city and sent men to kill my children,” Elia said, finding her way to a chair and sinking in with a grateful sigh. 

“I- I took him at his word,” he insisted, cringing at the sounds of his bedchamber being ransacked. “We served together for twenty good years on the small council. He did naught but good for the Seven Kingdoms. I truly believed he meant to protect the city.”

Elia stared at him. She had thought him the least dangerous member of the council since he had no knights or soldiers or levies or even guards to directly call upon. Yet, here they were.

“Truly,” he continued at her silence. “I am loyal to-”

“-House Lannister,” Lucerys finished. “Tell us, why are there partially burned papers in your hearth? They look freshly placed.”

Pycelle didn’t so much as look at the Lord of the Tides. “This man is using the siege to blacken my name. We ought to be discussing what terms to send Lord Tywin, not fighting amongst ourselves.”

“Terms,” Elia repeated. “The man you serve has made his terms quite clear. He sent men to kill my children and the prince. Men you very well may have spirited into the castle.”

In the aftermath, they had discovered that there had been ten men in total, each dressed in leathers or armor plain enough to allow them to pass for men-at-arms in the service of this lord or that knight. In the tumult of the attack on the city, no one questioned where they were going and they scaled the walls of Maegor’s undetected. One had fallen in the process, impaling himself on the spikes of the dry moat. The rest died inside the holdfast. Ser Jonothor slew two before being overwhelmed. Jate killed the man he faced on the backstair, but was now dying slowly from his own wounds. Lucerys and his men finished the rest once Larra alerted him of the invasion. 

Pycelle continued his protests, but she stopped listening to him. Instead, she focused on what they might do. Other than holding the castle until help arrived, she could think of nothing. Almost nothing. If Tywin were to die somehow, that would be the same as scattering the entire Lannister force.

In the end, they found no letters from Lord Tywin. The grand maester likely knew to burn them once they were read. What they found instead were various letters withheld from the king about troop movements and requests for aid. In addition, there were two missives Elia had been praying to see.

The first was a letter from her paternal uncle, Lord Garibald Manwoody. 

_My Princess, we have attempted to carry out your command to bring Lady Stark to King’s Landing, but have secured the girl here at Kingsgrave. I am afraid we cannot risk moving her until she gives birth. Our maester believes her time imprisoned has left her too weak and emotionally frayed to handle a long journey until she recovers._

_\-- Garibald Manwoody, Lord of Kingsgrave_

Elia wondered at his use of the term “imprisoned,” but supposed that mayhaps Arthur and the others had difficulty convincing her to stay once Rhaegar departed. From what she knew of the girl, Lyanna Stark was wilful and stubborn. She might have wished to put herself in some danger she needed to be protected from.

She turned to the next letter from her other uncle.

_Elia, the rebels are inclined to peace negotiations. I have delivered our terms. They have agreed to most of them, but insist on taking a hostage of their own. As that was not part of the terms agreed upon by you and the council, I advised that they return with me to King’s Landing to speak with you and the queen directly. We are enroute now._

_\-- Ser Lewyn Martell, a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard_

Pycelle must have thought they would be killed long before Uncle Lewyn returned.

“You withheld these from me and the queen regent,” Elia said. 

“Th-those, they only just arrived this evening,” the maester insisted. 

Lucerys laughed lazily. “The only way those ravens passed Tywin Lannister’s army would be if he brought no archers with him. Are you saying he brought a subpar force to conquer King’s Landing?”

“He would- I was not-”

“You claimed to serve the realm,” Elia said.

“It is the truth!” Pycelle insisted. “I serve the realm! I serve Westeros.”

“Is it also the truth that you no longer see serving House Targaryen as the same as serving the realm?”

The grand maester’s glare darted between her and Lucerys. “I- I-” The older man visibly swallowed, before his face hardened. “I serve the realm and the realm was best served by Lord Tywin! Amidst King Aerys’ follies, whims, and madness, Tywin Lannister was there giving the Seven Kingdoms justice, stability, and wealth. He rid us of Aegon V’s nonsensical laws. He took on the Crown’s debts and filled the royal coffers. He is all a king should be.”

Elia’s stomach tightened. Aside from abolishing Aegon the Unlikely’s laws, she could see the sense in what Pycelle said. She misliked that. 

Lucerys, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more pleased. “Truth from you at last. My princess, this man is a traitor by his own admission. May I have your leave to send him to the darkest of the black sells?”

Swallowing, Elia nodded. As the men in sea green cloaks hauled Pycelle away, she couldn’t help thinking of how many in Westeros agreed with him. How many would see Tywin Lannister and see a leader they would be proud to follow? He must be removed quickly before he realized his knights failed and he made another attempt.

“Princess, please let us take you back to the rooms that have been prepared for you,” Maester Rennifer said. “It is nearly morning and you need your rest.”

“I would sit a while longer,” she said, staring at the racks of herbs and salves and potions around them. “Men, you have my thanks. Please wait for us without.”

Once she, Teora, and Rennifer were alone, the maester attempted to fuss at her again, but she cut him off.

“The grand maester has many poisons,” Elia pointed out carefully to Maester Rennifer. “Can any of them kill simply through touch?”

The maester turned to stare at her, eyebrows raised in shock. The princess met his gaze.

“No, I don’t believe so,” Rennifer said. “Of what I have seen, Pycelle’s poisons required the victim to ingest them.” He turned his gaze away. “There are a number of poisons that can kill by touching the skin. They can be found in many of the islands in the south east. They occur naturally in some frogs. I…” The maester licked his lips and swallowed. “I happen to have a small amount of such a poison.”

“Should Lord Tywin come into contact with such a poison, that would be providence from the gods,” Teora said, eyeing Elia shrewdly. 

She had once suggested this very thing to Rhaegar when he returned from Dorne to face the Usurper. A bit of poison would remove the threat and restore the peace, saving countless lives. Her husband had only stared at her and simply said, “No.” But he had no say in the matter now and for once she could admit that that might be what was best for the realm.

“Yes,” Elia said, “sometimes the gods require a nudge from us.”

The plan she had suggested to her husband had been sending a poisoner into the rebels came to find a place in his army and slip poison into Robert Baratheon’s food. But they didn’t have the luxury of time to do something similar now with the lions besieging them. No, it must be a quick and less refined strike.

From the rookery window, the trio watched the pair of ravens they loosed soar out over King’s Landing. Neither bird survived very long. Swift arrows shot them down before they managed to soar far. The messages tied to their feet couldn’t be simple calls to arms and pleas for help. No. They had to require the direct attention of Tywin Lannister himself so he would snatch the missives up into his own hands to read them for himself. More than that, he had to take them into his own hands quickly enough so that the poison those scraps of paper were lightly coated in didn’t kill the ones who first held them too quickly. They agonized over the words, writing and rewriting the notes until they landed on the surest way to force at least one of the notes into Tywin’s hands.

“The great lion has grasped for the bait and is ready to be ensnared. Secure the trap behind him. -- Aerys the Dragon”

But would that be enough? Would he simply be satisfied in allowing an underling to read it aloud? Or would he take the poisoned paper into his own hand to see if he recognized Pycelle or Aerys’ handwriting? 

Their hopes hung on him doing the latter. But as dawn flushed pink over the city, they couldn’t see much activity below. 

“How long until the poison takes effect?” Elia asked, straining her eyes for the slightest movement in the city. 

“It will take a quarter of an hour for the hands of those who come into contact with the letters to grow numb,” Maester Rennifer said. She could hear the cringing in his voice. He had no liking for this plan even if he saw the wisdom in it. “That numbness will spread throughout their bodies until they can no longer move. That will take but an hour. Then they will die.”

Elia nodded, still staring out into the city from the rookery window. Time crept by with only the brightening sky to give any indication of time.

With her stomach lurching from hunger and her pained body craving sleep, Elia finally accepted defeat. The sun had fully risen and there was no sign of a commotion from the entrenched Lannisters.

“We failed,” she announced, moving unsteadily away from the window, leaning heavily on Teora.

“We managed to put at least two of those men in their graves,” her lady-in-waiting consoled. 

“But not the two we wished for.”

Finally, Elia allowed herself to be carried back to her temporary rooms where she could eat and sleep. With the bruises covering her back and arms, she hadn’t thought to get rest easily. Yet, as soon as she pulled the blankets over herself, sleep claimed her.

A few hours later, it was a jubilant Mellei who shook Elia awake with the news. 

“Forgive me, princess,” she said, sounding anything but apologetic. “But you must know. Groups of Lannister soldiers are abandoning the main force. They say there's chaos in the camp and their leader might be dead.”

The princess blinked at her for a few moments. 

“Poor Pycelle,” she said at last. “Being stripped of his office and his freedom will be nothing compared to this loss. Send word to him straight away.”

With that, she turned over in the unfamiliar bed and slept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me longer to post than expected. When I reread it before posting, I thought I might have resolved the situation too easily, so I tried to find different ways of approaching it. None were as satisfying for me as Elia being the direct cause of Tywin's death, so I ended up sticking to my original plan.


	5. Chapter 5

“Gods be good, you look like you barely survived a battle!” Uncle Lewyn exclaimed once the door to Elia’s solar shut behind him.

It was the day after he had returned with Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark for further negotiations. The Usurper remained behind with the rest of their army in the Riverlands, apparently trusting in his foster family to secure him good terms while remaining safe in case of a trap. When she had greeted them all the day before, her face had been powdered with the golden substance her ladies had secured for her from a Dornish merchant in the city. This morning, she didn’t plan to put it on until she left her rooms for the meeting so she would look fresh. 

Elia’s smile was painful. “It was more of a skirmish.”

“My little Eli, facing down Tywin Lannister.” The white knight shook his head even as he enveloped her in his arms. 

The princess tried to not cringe as his arms squeezed lightly against her bruised back, but she returned the embrace warmly. For so long, she had long for nothing more than being held and comforted by someone she could trust without reservation and she didn’t have to present a calm, regal demeanor with. 

Once they parted, they sat down to break their fasts and discuss everything that had come to pass. 

Between bites of eggs cooked with spinach and spiced with peppers, Elia detailed the events of the brief siege complete with the assassination attempt in Maegor’s, the executions of Lord Tywin and Ser Kevan, and the slow death throws of the Lannister army that had remained.

“I knew removing Tywin would weaken the resolve of many in the army he brought with him,” she said. “But I had no notion of how quickly the commanders would turn upon each other. From what our men on the walls say, small groups began slinking away that very morning. There was something of a battle amongst them on the third day. By then, Ser Benedict reported that their numbers were down to a quarter of what they began as.”

Uncle Lewyn shook his head with a rasping laugh. “They sound like utter fools. Tywin Lannister was not worth his reputation if the force he built collapsed the moment he was gone. Ill trained and unprepared men are a blight on the commander.”

That was something she had thought on too while recovering from her attack. The only thing she could determine was that the former Lord of Casterly Rock was so accustomed to the success of decisive, brutal, and thorough assaults that left his victims without recourse that he never planned for what might happen should his own person be lost. Most like, he thought that had his plan to send assassin’s failed, siege weapons would have decided the matter shortly.

“We might comfort ourselves that he will never learn the lesson from any of these mistakes,” Elia said. “We only gained the full picture when Emmon Frey attempted to surrender and beg for pardon.”

“Surrendered to the castle he was besieging?” Her uncle laughed again, but she continued through a chuckle of her own.

“From what we understand, Ser Emmon had attempted to take control of the army as the good brother of Lord Tywin and Ser Kevan. He felt he was the next in the line of command.”

“The Lannister cousins had much to say of that I’d guess.”

“Just so. Damon Lannister believed he had the right of command while his younger brother Stafford believed they ought to abandon the siege and return to the Westerlands to fortify themselves for retribution. Their knights and bannermen took sides or fled.”

Uncle Lewyn shook his head. “Which is why that scheming Ser Tybolt Hetherspoon rode up to meet us two days away from the city to deliver news of the siege and swear his loyalty to House Targaryen. He would distance himself from his liege.”

Elia’s mouth tightened. “And now we must needs reward his ‘loyalty’ to show how merciful and benevolent the crown is. Regardless, the rest of the army fell apart after that, either begging pardon or fleeing. We have been working to restore the city ever since.”

Lewyn’s journey had been much easier and less eventful. He met with the rebels under a peace banner and they were ready to negotiate once they learned that Aerys and Rhaegar were dead.

“Baratheon was monstrously wroth that he couldn’t kill the prince himself,” Uncle Lewyn said. “But that storm passed quickly and he was willing to talk. He even intends to wed that northern girl. Lord Arryn sounded more concerned with the Crown’s contribution to her dowry than her betrothed. Baratheon’s only conditions were that we would take charge of the girl’s bastard and that he would have a hostage in exchange for the one he would give in turn.”

“A hostage,” she repeated, staring down at her empty plate. The princess had discussed this with Rhaella after sharing the hidden letters with her. They knew what must be done, yet the queen clung even more tightly to her little boy now. “The only coin he would accept that we might part with are Rhaenys and Viserys.”

Her chest tightened at the thought. This was the same decision Doran had to make, trading Quentyn for peace. 

“My thanks, Uncle,” she said, rising. “Please excuse me. I must needs prepare myself to face the rebels.”

The negotiations went quickly. The terms Uncle Lewyn had already presented them were solidified and agreed to. Only two points of contention drew the discussion out: the hostages and how much the Crown would pay to cleanse Lyanna Stark of her taint. Lord Arryn asked for an extraordinary amount that had to be negotiated down to something close to reasonable. 

Hostages on both sides were to be had to ensure continuous love between them all. Though the decision threatened to shatter Rhaella’s heart, they agreed that Viserys would be fostered at Storm’s End and serve as Robert Baratheon’s squire with Ser Oswell Whent as the prince’s sworn shield. In return, Renly Baratheon would be fostered in King’s Landing as squire to Gerold Hightower. There was a brief discussion over whether a similar arrangement would be made with Lord Stark’s younger brother, but Elia offered to foster his newborn son Robb instead.

“He is young for fostering,” she admitted. “But he and Aegon can grow up as close as brothers with no desire to ever go to war against each other.”

After much hesitation, they agreed so long as both boys had Baratheon and Stark guards about them as well.

“When will my sister be returned to us,” Lord Eddard demanded, grey eyes cold.

“Lady Stark is safe at Kingsgrave,” Elia assured him. “Once she recovers from the birthing, she will be escorted here or to White Harbor if you prefer. The prince’s daughter can remain there until it is safe for her to be taken to the Water Gardens. She will want for nothing there.”

And she will remain out of the public eye until she’s all but forgotten and the world has moved forward.

Those negotiations were the easiest part of ending the war. It should have only grown easier from there with the rebels and loyalists alike preparing to attend Aegon’s coronation as the city recovered. Yet,another complication for Elia sprouted with the arrival of a letter from Kingsgrave announcing that Lyanna Stark had scarcely survived the birth of a son she had named Rickard. 

A  _ son _ . Not the promised daughter.

“You see this boy as more of a threat than a daughter would be?” Rhaella asked when Elia brought up her concerns to her.

They sat in Elia’s solar, the children and their ladies playing or busying themselves around them.

“Not a threat,” the princess insisted. She could keep a boy as discreetly as a girl in the Water Gardens. “It’s only that Rhaegar insisted the baby would be a girl. A Visenya for Aegon and Rhaenys. He  _ knew _ it. We based all our plans on it.”

“But, sweetling, how could he have known?”

“He…” Elia hesitated. The queen knew of Rhaegar’s visions. Yet it was difficult saying this aloud and not feeling like a fool. “He saw her. He said he saw a girl with silver hair and winter furs with a small, purple dragon draped about her shoulders. He said that would be the third head of the dragon and he would make that child with the Stark girl. If his vision was wrong, if he wasn’t helping to fulfill this grand destiny for Aegon...”

It would mean that everything they did, all those who died, the danger they had placed their children in, it was all for nothing. No, worse than nothing. It was all in support of a delusion.

“Foretellings are a tricky thing,” Rhaella said, bringing the princess back to the moment. “I never had the gift myself. What I have heard of my ancestors who had the gift or curse of foresight, those visions were difficult to interpret. They often came to the wrong conclusions or realized they were focusing on the wrong details. You say my son saw a girl with a dragon. The dragons are dead. Mayhaps he saw a vision of the past or one in the far future.”

“But, good mother, you don’t  _ understand _ ,” Elia insisted, panic rising in her chest. She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “You don’t  _ understand _ . I supported Rhaegar. We all did. We believed in him and his visions.” 

Rhaella nodded. “You supported your husband.”

“I supported him in having a dangerous affair that his father escalated into a war!” How could she not see? All this time, Elia had comforted herself with the knowledge that the choices they made were for the greater good, that this was part of a prophecy on a grand scale. But now, even in her mind that sounded like utter nonsense. What had she been thinking? How could she put faith in visions, even if her husband had?

Yet, even as Elia agonized over this realization, Rhaella didn’t seem to understand the trouble. Even when she shared the contents of the letter with Uncle Lewyn, he was more concerned with how a bastard son of the Prince of Dragonstone might be more of a threat for her son than a bastard daughter was, than what it meant that they had simply believed and supported Rhaegar when he spouted madness.

“The Blackfyre Rebellions weren’t so very long ago,” the white knight said. “A close watch must be kept over this boy. He will be amongst children of every rank and isn’t like to find an army willing to fight for him in Dorne. But still, we must needs be vigilant.”

“Yes, I will ask Doran to see to it,” Elia said, “but truly, Uncle, you must see how foolish we were to listen to Rhaegar when he began his talk of visions and prophecy.”

“He was your husband and my prince,” Lewyn said simply. “It was our duty to listen to him and obey him.”

Elia could only hope that Arthur would understand how she felt. Mayhaps he was already going through something similar. She had to wait a moon’s turn for that. Lady Stark was not well enough for travel until a fortnight after she gave birth. By then, she was insisting that she would not leave her bastard, now named Brandon. Lord Garibald wrote that his men were forcing her to leave the boy behind at Elia’s command. 

A level of guilt twisted her stomach, but she knew it was for the best. The more quickly she was handed off to her brother and betrothed, the sooner they would have peace.

* * *

At long last, Arthur, Lord Garibald Manwoody, and their party arrived in King’s Landing with Lyanna Stark. Elia hadn’t put on a great show in greeting them publicly lest she give the girl more attention than necessary. Still, she watched them discreetly from the walls of the Red Keep, the hood of her cloak drawn up and only one lady-in-waiting at her side. She hadn’t known what to expect, but the sight of the girl and Arthur struck her as odd.

The Stark girl wasn’t as pretty as Elia remembered. At Harrenhal, Lady Lyanna had had a slim, lean build made for movement and a long face to match. Pregnancy and confinement had left her body more round and her movements more ungainly. The once fair skin, that was a sign of one who hailed from the farthest north, was burned red and peeling from the Dornish sun. A scowl rested firmly on her face. 

But stranger than that was the flat, dead look in Arthur’s eyes as he rode behind the girl. Briefly, his gaze met Elia’s. Instead of the warm grin she was accustomed to seeing on that handsome face when he saw her, something suspiciously close to guilt seemed to overtake him. Her white knight spared her a nod before disappearing through the castle walls. 

The girl was turned over to her brother’s custody straight away. 

It wasn’t until an hour later that Elia was able to speak with Arthur and even longer until she could speak to him alone. 

Along with Gerold Hightower and Oswell Whent, Arthur gave his report on their activities over the past year. The more they spoke, the more Elia felt as though the floor and slipped from under her. 

“Lady Stark was taken by force, then?” Lucerys nodded knowingly.

Arthur visibly swallowed. “We fell upon her and her protectors in the Riverlands and carried her off at sword point. When she and her guards resisted, we killed the men and subdued her. We brought her to an abandoned tower in the Red Mountains of Dorne and...” He cleared his throat. “...held her there until we received word that she was to be moved.”

Elia stared at him, finding it difficult to comprehend what he had said. Arthur would never… Rhaegar would never… They were knights. Gallant and brimming with honor.

The image of Lady Lyanna from earlier, furious and haunted, flitted through her mind’s eye. 

“How could you do this?” Elia gasped out.

Though she had held Arthur’s gaze it was Oswell Whent who responded. “Princess, we did naught but our duty to our prince. We stayed true to our vows.”

“Not your vow to protect all women,” Rhaella said, her voice hard, but without even a trace of surprise. “But that was one none of you ever paid any mind to.”

Elia’s horror only swelled when she realized that she shouldn’t even be shocked by this. Hadn’t she noted the bruises that once blemished her good mother’s skin? Hadn’t she heard the gossip from the queen’s ladies of how rhaella’s body looked as though she had been mauled by an animal? Hadn’t Rhaegar dismissed her concerns when she mentioned what she saw and heard? Just as these knights had stood guard and did nothing while their queen was brutalized, they weren’t like to protect a noble girl either.

And Rhaegar…. Rhaegar with his certainty, with his single-minded beliefs and goals….

Elia’s stomach clenched and she had to swallow the bile that nearly forced itself out of her.

The rest of the council continued to ask questions and the knights continued to answer, but she could barely hear them. When she finally noticed movement in front of her, Elia looked up to see Arthur staring at her, his dark eyes silently pleading even as his sworn brothers departed.

This was the boy who had splashed with her in the Water Gardens and feasted on blood oranges with her until their faces and hands were sticky with juice. This was the knight who had named her queen of love and beauty more times than she could count. This was the man she had loved and ached for while both of them had done their duty for their Houses and the realm. 

“You may go, Ser Arthur,” Elia said in a tone so forceful she made herself jolt. 

* * *

What surprised Elia most about all this was how unsurprised everyone else was by the revelations that made her doubt her own wits. Apparently, everyone had already assumed Rhaegar had stolen the Stark girl against her will. They knew that knights must obey their liege even when asked to betray their vows. Only she and the more naive amongst her ladies had expected better.

The soaring sense of triumph at defeating the Lannisters had crumpled into a feeling of defeat at having had a hand in creating the very problem she nearly died trying to solve. 

It was this guilt that made Elia accept the request for a meeting with Lady Stark on her own. 

“I would have my son returned to me,” the girl said, cutting off any attempt at pleasantries.

The princess had expected this and was fully prepared with her refusal to this request.

“As the son of a prince and the brother of a king, the boy is a ward of the Crown. We will see to his upbringing. He will want for nothing, I promise you. When he is old enough, you might write to each other and mayhaps you can visit him from time to time at the Water Gardens.”

‘My son will not spend his life imprisoned in that dry, burning eighth hell!” Lady Lyanna shouted.

Scoffs of muffled consternation sounded from Elia’s ladies. For her part, the princess simply  _ stared _ at the girl.

As young as she was, Lyanna seemed to understand that she had overstepped. Closing her eyes and visibly swallowing, she seemed to rein in her temper.

“After what the  _ Crown _ has put my family through, the least I’m owed is the right to return home with my son,” the northern girl said, tight and constrained.

Elia struggled to keep her face placid, even as the guilt chewed upon her insides. “The Crown is compensating you by contributing to your dowry so you might still marry Lord Baratheon.”

“I am no whore in need of payment!” Lyanna flared again. “I want only my son!”

And here the princess had thought these northerners were mild. Mayhaps the farthest north was different than the other kingdoms.

Elia could have pointed out that the “payment” wasn’t compensating  _ her _ so much as giving additional incentive to any man who agreed to marry her, but that would have only set the angry girl off even further. And Elia could understand the rage even if she couldn’t allow herself to indulge in anything similar she might feel.

With slow and precise purpose, the princess took a sip of her tea and set the cup down carefully before turning back to the young girl with her peeling, sunburnt skin.

“You must know this goes beyond a mother being with her child,” Elia said. “The boy is a prince’s son.”

“Brandon is  _ my _ son, not your prince’s.”

“We cannot have this Brandon at Storm’s End raised by a pardoned rebel, even were Robert Baratheon like to allow you to bring a bastard into the marriage with you.”

Lyanna rolled her eyes. “He has no room to complain of bastards. But there will be no marriage between us. I told my brother I won’t have him. I want to return to Winterfell.”

That casual announcement sent a jolt through Elia’s already tender sensibilities. This girl was being offered a grander marriage than her ruined status would allow her to hope for, yet she was pushing it away with both hands. 

“You mean to raise your son in the North?” the princess asked, her mind processing what such a thing might mean. When she had assumed Lyanna had become her husband’s mistress willingly, she had speculated that eagerness to escape so cold and unremarkable a place had led her to running away. To hear that she wanted to return made her curious about the region.

“I would.” Lyanna nodded, hope joining anger in her grey eyes. “He belongs in the North.”

Elia took another sip of tea. Of all the regions, the North was the least spoken of and the people who hailed from there rarely wandered far from home. It wasn’t glamorous nor powerful and it had few resources to give it political value. Sending this bastard boy to the North would keep him farther out of sight than he would be even in the Water Gardens. Buried so far away from the center of politics and influence would make him all but forgotten. 

With a soft sigh, Elia realized she was trying to convince herself of something that went against her political instincts. She ought to stay resolute and keep this child comfortable but under her firm control lest he grow up to threaten her children. But what she ached to do was give this girl what consolation and comfort she could afford, without harming her own family’s interests too far. Didn’t the Crown owe her some happiness beyond bribing an unwanted man into her bed? Wasn’t allowing her this child the least compensation she deserved after what was done to her father, brother, and her own person?

“How will your countrymen take to seeing their lord’s sister with an openly acknowledged bastard?”

Lyanna’s sunburnt skin flushed an even brighter red and she looked away. “What they say makes no matter to me.”

Elia might have told her that it would matter to her son as he grew up shunned and mocked. From what she could tell of these northern kingdoms, bastards were treated far worse in them than in Dorne. In the actual North, it might be even worse. No, in the North he would not be like to find any allies. Nor would his mother. It wasn’t fair. Elia knew that. And it was a cruel notion to find relief in, but she couldn’t help it. With a bastard at her hip, there would be no fine marriage for the girl and no powerful alliances to be made for this potential rival to her children’s happiness. There would be no second Daemon Blackfyre here.

What’s more, Elia would have the very heir to the North growing up alongside her children, learning to be loyal and grateful to the royal family.

“I will discuss possibly sending your son to Winterfell with the council after the king is crowned,” the princess said at last. “Should we see no danger in it, we may send him, discreetly, to White Harbor where you can send for him.”

The girl’s face brightened into something close to a smile.

The council and her fellow regent would agree. She was certain of it. Rhaella already spoke sympathetically for this grandchild she had never met. As much as Elia convinced herself otherwise, only the gods knew if this would come to haunt her in a couple decades or so.

“But of course,” she found herself saying, “should we agree and should you choose to marry later, we will reevaluate where best to place the child. For all of our good.”

The princess refused to feel guilt at the sight of that young, haunted face souring before her. Elia had already indulged in more sympathy than she could afford.

* * *

Aegon’s coronation was something never before seen in Westeros. Some might have called it comical. A boy of only one year and some months mounted the Iron Throne as half the nobility in the realm looked on. 

This was not something Elia or Rhaella would have even considered if the throne had been untouched by the wildfire. The blades were too sharp for a man grown let alone a babe of one. But the flame had managed to smooth the swords into a more solid structure, though even more hideous than ever. 

The little king did not mount the throne by himself. Making the long procession through the Great Hall on his own dressed in black and red, Elia quietly urged him to come to her from beside the throne. He was met by the High Septon who anointed him with the seven oils and gently placed a small gold band, set with seven gemstones of different colors on his head. Then, Ser Gerold Hightower lifted and carried him up the steps of the throne and set Aegon gently in the seat. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard remained only a few steps down on the throne to keep him from falling. What came next would be a long but necessary process and they couldn’t risk the king growing restless and trying to climb down on his own.

One by one, the lords and ladies present knelt before the Iron Throne, with Elia and Rhaella standing on either side of the structure, and swore allegiance to King Aegon the Sixth of his Name. 

Words were wind, but Elia silently prayed that this display served to start her son’s reign and regency off on a firm foundation. 


End file.
